NAJINE AND HER LOVER.
ON reaching the head of the stairs, I opened the door upon a pretty
picture. Madame de Brousson had discreetly left the lovers alone, and
they were standing together before the fire, M. de Lambert’s arm around
Najine, and the firelight shining on their faces. They started at my
unexpected entrance, and her cheeks were rosy with blushes as she saw
the smile in my eyes; but she came up to me, and clasped my hand in
both hers.
“I have to thank you, monsieur,” she said, “for all you have done for
me and for M. de Lambert.”
I laughed softly. “Nay, mademoiselle,” I replied gently, “M. de Lambert
owes more to you than to any one, and I trust that he has properly
thanked you.”
She laughed a little at this, and glanced mischievously at her lover.
“I believe he is grateful, monsieur,” she said archly.
“Jesting aside, mademoiselle,” I went on gravely, “we have no time to
lose; M. de Lambert must leave Moscow to-night.”
She started and glanced sadly at her lover, and he looked back at her
with eager interrogation.
“Alas!” she exclaimed, “so soon! Do you believe it necessary, M. le
Maréchal?”
“Mademoiselle,” I replied, “do you yourself believe that the czar is
likely to stand by his action to-night?”
She was silent for a moment, and then shook her head. “I cannot tell,”
she said sadly; “he is a passionate and changeful man, and acts, I
fear, too often on the impulse of the moment.”
“Mademoiselle,” I replied, “I have the assurance of Alexander
Mentchikof that the czar may change at any moment. M. de Lambert must
leave Moscow at once, and for all time, if he would be safe; and you
must bid him farewell unless--”
I paused and glanced at Guillaume.
“I have told her,” he said, “and she raises a thousand objections to
the haste and the danger.”
“I thought you a brave woman, mademoiselle,” I remarked.
“It is not for myself,” she cried with feeling; “it is for him.”
I looked from one to the other. “Ah, mademoiselle,” I said quietly, “I
see how it is. I will leave you to M. de Lambert’s persuasion; but time
presses, and I shall presently return;” and I went out to find my wife,
for I saw that Najine was on the point of yielding, and that her lover
would be a far more effective argument than my best eloquence.
I found Zénaïde waiting with impatience for the return of Pierrot. She
had arranged everything in her own mind, and was full of impatience to
carry out her designs.
“They must be married at once,” she said with decision; “every hour
counts, and Najine has selected this time to hesitate and increase
our embarrassments, while I have been looking for Madame Zotof at any
moment.”
I smiled. “A more terrible infliction than the czar,” I admitted; “but
mademoiselle will yield. We must go straight to the Kremlin, find a
priest, and have the knot tied.”
“There will be a difficulty about the priest,” Zénaïde said.
I showed her Mentchikof’s signet, and explained briefly his cautions
and fears.
“The signet will probably help us,” she said thoughtfully. “Meanwhile
we must prevail upon Najine to consent at once.”
As she spoke, there was a hasty tap upon the door, and I opened it to
admit Pierrot.
“Monsieur and madame,” he said hurriedly, “the Zotofs are coming. I
left Touchet with the carriage at some distance that they might not see
us approach, and I have put out the lights at the front of the house.”
“Wise Pierrot,” I said, “put out all the lights that show at the
windows;” and then I turned to my wife for suggestions.
“It is, as I thought,” she said; “the czar intends that Madame Zotof
shall undo all that he has done. We must get mademoiselle and M. de
Lambert out by the rear door.”
“Will that be possible, Pierrot?” I asked.
“If no time is lost, monsieur. They will first try the front door, and
it is possible that they may believe that we have already departed.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Not while Madame Zotof is of the party,” I
said.
Zénaïde had already gone to hasten mademoiselle’s decision, and I
followed. At the first note of danger Najine’s spirit awoke, and she
was as quick to act as we could desire. I saw by M. de Lambert’s face
that he had overcome her scruples to a hasty marriage, and I felt that
we could now proceed without further delays. In a few moments both
women were cloaked and hooded for the street, and preceded by Pierrot
we crept down the stairs to the door at the rear. We were half-way down
when we were startled by a loud knock at the front.
“They have come!” exclaimed mademoiselle beneath her breath, pausing to
listen.
“The more reason for haste,” I said, taking her hand and leading her
forward. Then I called to Pierrot, “Is there any one at this entrance?”
He was listening at the door, and in a moment opened it and looked out.
“Safe as yet, monsieur,” he said.
We hurried down and out, for there was now quite an uproar at the
front door. We stood a moment listening, Najine’s hand in mine.
“We must run for it!” I exclaimed. And we all ran down the lane like
a party of children, and reached the carriage without hindrance. As
soon as we were seated within it, the horses started at a round pace,
and I laughed as I thought of Madame Zotof beating upon my door for
admittance.
“Have a care, monsieur,” Zénaïde said warningly; “do not laugh too
soon.”
“You think my mirth premature?” I replied thoughtfully; “it may be so,
but I saw so plainly Madame Zotof before that door. I beg your pardon,
mademoiselle, but your aunt’s energy is amusing.”
“They will follow us to the Kremlin,” she rejoined quietly. “My aunt
never gives up.”
“A worthy quality, mademoiselle,” I remarked, “and madame may follow
as soon as the marriage is consummated. She cannot prevail against the
church.”
“In any case, madame will not prevail,” remarked M. de Lambert,
quietly; “Najine has consented to be my wife, and I trust that I am
able to fight her battles as well as my own.”
“There is no doubt about your ability to fight your own, monsieur,” I
remarked, laughing to myself as I thought of his duel with Apraxin; but
neither Zénaïde nor Najine understood my reference, and I felt M. de
Lambert stir uneasily, probably afraid of alarming his _fiancée_. I
laughed the more, knowing how she admired her lover’s prowess and how
little she esteemed the vanquished, for she had a spirit that despised
all cowardice and meanness. In spite of my anxieties, I found much
food for amusing reflection,--the embarrassment of the czar, finding
mademoiselle as a suppliant for her lover; the mad folly of M. Apraxin,
and the fury of that shrew Madame Zotof. Meanwhile we had been driving
rapidly, and in a quarter of an hour the carriage stopped within
the Gate of the Redeemer, and, leaving the women in charge of M. de
Lambert, I went to find a priest whom I could trust with this delicate
affair. After a little inquiry I was directed to the Cathedral of the
Assumption, and, returning for the others, we went there together, and
I found the priest whom I sought. It was, however, not an easy matter
to induce him to perform the ceremony; our nationality, the haste,
and the hour--it was now long past midnight--aroused his suspicions,
and he looked long and searchingly at mademoiselle’s muffled figure.
It was certain that I would never have prevailed over his scruples
without Mentchikof’s signet ring. The sight of it had an immediate
effect upon him, and shook his resolution; he dared not offend the
all-powerful favorite, and in ignorance of the extent of the risk
involved, he finally yielded a reluctant consent to my persuasions,
and went into the center of the church for the ceremony. Najine was
agitated, and clung to my wife for support and encouragement, realizing
that it was a decisive step, and that she was imperilling her lover’s
liberty and perhaps his life, for if the czar’s mood changed it might
be the simplest way to make her a widow. M. de Lambert’s own face was
pale, but with emotion rather than anxiety, and he stood beside his
bride, the picture of a gallant soldier. Mademoiselle had thrown back
her hood, and I thought, as I looked at her in the light of the tapers
that they held in their hands, that I had never seen a bride more
lovely in all the splendid attire of the court, than this young girl
in her long gray cloak that fell from throat to feet, the fur-lined
hood thrown back, and her face fair and pale as a white lily against
the gloom of the vast interior of the cathedral. There were no lights
behind us, only those before the altar; and they served to increase the
darkness of the nave while illuminating the splendid golden iconostase,
blazing with precious jewels around the faces of Madonnas; above was
the great dome, about us were the mighty pillars with their images of
saints and martyrs, rising one above another, while on every side from
the golden background loomed the dark forms of pictured angels and
archangels; and on the pavement beneath our feet had knelt, generation
after generation, the Grand Dukes of Muscovy and the Czars of all the
Russias.
My wife and I and our attendants stood a little apart to witness the
ceremony, while the white-haired priest united the lovers. Softly
intoning the service, he placed two golden crowns upon their heads
and, clasping their hands in his, led them three times around the
great taper that he had lighted in the center of the church, and which
shone like a star. I looked at the picture that they made with strange
reflections: here was a young and beautiful woman willing to forego
the splendors of a throne to become the wife of a French soldier,
preferring his love to a power that might have been almost absolute
with the czar; for I had seen enough to be convinced that Peter loved
Najine with all the strength of his fierce nature, and that she could
have swayed him as no other woman ever would. How strange is the course
of destiny! Here was a woman who might have been Empress of all the
Russias and she preferred to be the wife of a gallant gentleman of the
French King’s household. After all, was not her choice wise? For her
undoubtedly, but for some women impossible. There are souls that covet
the slippery heights of power, that long to rule the destinies of men,
and there are women to whom a lot of domestic obscurity would mean
bitter unhappiness. I could not imagine Catherine Shavronsky content
with such a fate; she would fight for power, while she lived, and
wade through the mire of personal degradation to obtain her goal. No
cost would be too great, no sacrifice too supreme, for her consuming
ambition. Such were my thoughts while I stood listening to the solemn
words that made Najine Zotof the wife of Guillaume de Lambert,--strange
reflections, no doubt, yet I believe that my wife’s were nearly
identical, only that she had a woman’s quick sympathy for the young
girl’s emotion; a woman’s appreciation of her purity and truth, which
not even the most splendid temptations of a court could sully or
corrupt. As for the two lovers themselves, they were too absorbed in
each other, too devoutly attentive to the priest, to be conscious
of any world outside their own, and I saw Zénaïde’s eyes moist with
sympathy as she watched them. The last words of the benediction spoken,
M. de Lambert turned to us with radiant eyes, and Najine threw herself
into my wife’s arms with a little sob of deep emotion.
“I owe all to you, monsieur,” M. de Lambert said warmly, as he clasped
my hand; “I have been a rash fool, and without you would have failed
miserably.”
“Nay,” I replied, smiling, “you were no fool in the one quarter where
wisdom was most desired, monsieur; and you owe much, too, to Madame de
Lambert.”
He smiled at the name, and glanced at Najine, who turned now to me with
her own sweet manner, thanking me for all my kindness to her until I
was myself embarrassed, feeling that I scarcely deserved so much, and
so turned it aside with a jest.
“Nay, madame,” I said, “do not thank me too much for making you the
wife of a poor man, when,” I added in a low tone, “you might have been
an empress.”
She looked up at her husband with a glance of proud affection.
“Not so, M. l’Ambassadeur,” she said with spirit. “I owe you the more
thanks, since no queen could be more happy than the wife of a brave and
loyal man.”
M. de Lambert bent his head gracefully and kissed her hand. “I am more
fortunate than an emperor,” he replied.
“You are both more fortunate,” Madame de Brousson said quietly; “a
loyal heart is richer than a crown, and you are happier in each other
than either emperors or kings.”
Meanwhile the priest who had performed the ceremony was eager to be
rid of us, and, knowing the perils of delay, I too became impatient,
and urged upon M. de Lambert the necessity of immediate departure. We
had previously decided upon the road that they should travel, and I
sent Touchet to Mentchikof with a verbal message that would inform him
that the deed was done, and nothing now remained but to get the pair
off as speedily as might be. Events had crowded upon each other, but
it was now near dawn, and it was necessary for them to leave Moscow
while the darkness remained. Mentchikof had furnished me with a pass
that would open the gates for them, and I had previously arranged a
change of horses for M. de Lambert, anticipating the necessity of his
departure, whether he married mademoiselle or not. The priest hurried
us out of the cathedral, and Zénaïde and I rode with them a little way
to a spot where we could leave the carriage and go to our quarters with
Pierrot, while Touchet was to overtake them with the woman, Neonila,
and attend them on their hurried journey to France. Najine parted from
my wife with tears, for, after all, she had been sorely tried, and was
young and estranged from her kindred, and about to go to a strange
land to begin a new life far from family and friends; yet so great and
so trusting is the love of woman that it will endure all things and
believe all things for him who has won it. It touched both Zénaïde and
me to observe M. de Lambert’s tender appreciation of her fears and her
regrets, for he had that fine gentleness that belongs to the greatest
courage,--the tenderness that is a part of a noble spirit. When my wife
bade Najine adieu, she turned to him with grave admonition.
“Be considerate of her, monsieur,” she said warmly, “for she is leaving
her guardians, her country, her friends, for your sake alone--and there
is no richer gift than a good woman’s heart.”
M. de Lambert took my wife’s hands in his, and pressed them to his lips.
“Madame,” he replied, with a thrill of strong emotion in his voice,
“I love you for your own goodness and, most of all, for your love for
Najine. Fear not that I shall fail in appreciation, for, madame, I
value her love above all the riches of this world, as the one gift
without price.”
With these words we parted from them and stood watching the carriage as
it rolled away with Najine’s fair face outlined dimly in the darkness.
They went off together into the night upon a perilous and uncertain
journey, but as happy in their confidence as the most fortunate of
married pairs; and my wife and I watched and listened, and then we
looked up and saw the clouds drifting away and the stars shining. It
seemed a happy omen.